Chapter 2 - MY HUSBAND WAS NEVER IN BOSTON
Detective Lena Ortiz arrived before midnight.
I showed her the messages.
The photograph.
Caleb’s name disappeared from my emergency contacts.
Hospital security placed an alert on my room.
Then Ortiz asked the question I had been avoiding.
“Tell me about the accident.”
“I don't remember much.”
“Start before it.”
I closed my eyes.
That afternoon, I had driven to pick up groceries before collecting Emma from art class.
Rain had started around five.
I remembered the intersection.
A delivery truck.
The radio.
Then my brake pedal felt wrong.
Soft.
I pumped it.
Nothing.
I remembered screaming.
Then glass.
According to the police report, my SUV crossed an intersection and struck a concrete barrier.
No other vehicle hit me.
It had been classified as mechanical failure pending inspection.
“What did your husband say afterward?” Ortiz asked.
“That the car was old.”
“How old?”
“Four years.”
“Maintenance?”
“Regular.”
“Who handled it?”
“Caleb.”
Ortiz wrote something.
Then:
“Life insurance?”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Do you have a policy?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“One million.”
“Beneficiary?”
“Caleb.”
My stomach turned.
But Ortiz’s next question was worse.
“Do you have separate assets?”
“My grandmother left me a house.”
“Value?”
“Maybe nine hundred thousand.”
“Who inherits it?”
“Emma.”
“Who controls it while she's a minor?”
I stopped.
Caleb.
May you like
Detective Ortiz did not need to explain what she was thinking.
Neither did I.
